


Troublesome Love

by Octopocalypse



Category: Naruto
Genre: Awkward Crush, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9820652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octopocalypse/pseuds/Octopocalypse
Summary: A rice cooker filled a hole on his counter, the same way a friendly smile filled a previously unnoticed hole in his heart. A television crept into his barren living room, much in the way a tender gaze would creep under his thickened skin.





	

Each heaving intake of air was met with no resistance as Shikamaru rubbed his arousal out in the quiet dark hours of the night. Mere inches away, kept separate by the thin drywall was the object of his affection, and recent obsession.

They’d been friends for years, but the infatuation began only months after the Akimichi moved in with him.

Shikamaru had always been aware of his mind, and the sometimes uninvited preferences that came with it. He knew he enjoyed the plumpness certain women possessed. Loved the way they felt in his hands, it ignited a fire in him no lesser, more delicate woman could.

Inebriated nights with women from the bar would turn about with less then remarkable results. As it seemed, when it came to his performance in the bedroom, Shikamaru found himself in a constant struggle to produce results.

Something about it simply felt wrong.

The girls blamed him. Accusing him of ruffling them up, leading them on with sweet words about their physic, preying on them like some easy lay and to disappoint in the end was only proof of his hollow lies.

He blamed alcohol and circumstances. After all, he never really had feelings for these women aside from a physical attraction. And that really wasn’t his style. 

So it wasn’t long before he’d given up completely on perusing troublesome love.

He settled on a soft and lonely life, deciding on the familiar tactic of “let em come to me,”. And someone did. Though not in the way he expected.

 

It was old friend who came to him, looking for a place to stay while he went to school. And soon enough his world was full of Chouji. Slowly his things filled the lackluster gaps of the slackers bland apartment, as the Akimichi fretted over the things his long time friend needed the Nara began to notice things he hadn’t before in his close comrade. A rice cooker filled a hole on his counter, the same way a friendly smile filled a previously unnoticed hole in his heart. A television crept into his barren living room, much in the way a tender gaze would creep under his thickened skin. And he was surprised to find most of his fridge space now devoted to fruits and vegetables, and most of his mind space devoted to thoughts of Chouji.

The discovery brought up the memory of a previous day. When he’d remembered Choji picking through his freezer, scolding as he pulled microwave dinners from its depths, shooting Shikamaru an unimpressed look. The smaller man simply shrugged and returned his listless gaze to the window. It was the beginning of one of their first unspoken agreements, and it was the begging of Shikamaru’s attempt to commit such looks to memory.

The little revolutions didn’t end there. The next came after another bullshit day at his bullshit job. Shikamaru was looking forward to nothing more than to spread himself out on a familiar couch, in a familiar corner and stare out a familiar window to, hopefully, unfamiliar clouds.

However, when he stepped into his apartment, he found a less then familiar arrangement. Someone had turned his couch almost ninety degrees from its position in front of the window. He slumped into his usual seat anyways, craning his neck to stare out the dirty glass. He’d have to talk to Chouji about this.

Most the other surprises came in the form of food. Home cooked meals his own mothers cooking couldn’t hold a candle to. From that day on the bland cardboard flavor of instant noodles never passed the Nara’s lips, as he came home to delightful aromas and feasts that were as filling as they were delicious.

And the third, and perhaps most unprecedented surprise came from Chouji himself, or rather, was Chouji.

Shikamaru would come home after a long day, flop back on the negotiated couch (now turned about thirty degrees so he could easily stare out the window once again.) and Chouji would be there, spread out over the other side. 

As the months grew hotter, a chubby thigh, that would only occasionally peek from under shorts, would become more visible as shorts were shed in favor of boxers. Sometimes the bigger man would throw an arm around Shika, pulling him into his breast as he chuckled away to something on the television. Shikamaru would pause there, attention ripped from his highschool sweetheart, the clouds, to focus on a new sort of sweetheart, a prominent belly that bounced, and jiggled with rotund happiness. 

Only once did he extend a hand to feel the give of soft flesh there. Only once did he dare, because after that the laughter stopped, and when he looked up, he was met with a questioning look. A look that would cause the Nara to reel back, making the excuse that he was only trying to regain his balance.

It was that memory that kept him up most nights. That and the questions he posed on his sanity. But he pushed all insecurities aside tonight and focused on the thought that had him fishing under the covers once or twice a week for relief. 

He just needed something, something to ease the tension, to keep from staring across the room at Chouji in ways that made the other man stare back. An eyebrow arched to pose an unspoken question as the Nara flushed and fumbled for a suitable answer. Pursed, concerned lips that Shikamaru couldn’t help picturing now. He swallowed back a desperate moan as he imagined them parting, making way for the thick glossy tongue he only caught glimpses of as the Akimichi licked salty residue off his finger tips from his latest snack.

There was no halting the tidal wave of images that followed, illustrations of Choujis lips parading down the Nara’s body. The ghosting sensation of thick fingers crawling down his spine and he pictured himself, for the first time in a lifetime, on his knees, breathless and wanting.

A sweated palm pulled at the sheets under him as he stroked himself needily to the thought, and as one more orgasm bled silent in the dark, covering him in sticky, troublesome love, Shikamaru looked to the window. He watched the clouds pass over the moon, knowing that soon, like the orbiting light in the dark, his secrets would be uncovered too. It was only a matter of time.

**Author's Note:**

> You might be able to tell from this fic I'm not a huge fan of smut.


End file.
